


Once, I had this dream

by lucienff



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adam Young is a sweetheart, Adult Adam Young (Good Omens), Adult Warlock Dowling, Alternate Universe - College/University, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Includes drawings for each chapter :), Just a mention!, Light angst but comfort overall, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of child neglect, Multi, Ominous stuff, Pepper is a lesbian, Premonitious dreams, Prophetic Dreams, The Dowlings are bad parents but they are human, The Them are supportive af, Warlock Dowling needs friends :), Warlock is a witch! But he doesn't know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucienff/pseuds/lucienff
Summary: “Once, I had this dream…I was sitting in a, otherworldly, empty theater, well, cinema, as you British call it, with a tall, thin man. I cannot really recall what he looked like, except that he was well dressed in a black suit, impossibly pale, and he kind of blurred before my eyes when I tried to stare at his face, like an old polaroid photograph, so I mainly watched him out of the corner of my eyes, and looked ahead at the blank movie screen."Warlock has had weird dreams for as long as his memory goes. Between the confusing memories, the discovery of a very new world, his family drama and Adam's dashing smile, he has a lot to think about.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Harriet Dowling & Warlock Dowling, Pepper/Original female character (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling & The Them (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling/Adam Young
Comments: 8
Kudos: 78





	1. The Present

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for previous suicide attempt! It is marked in bold, so you can skip that if you don't want to read that part. There will be references of it along the development of the story, but I'll try to mark every scene in which this happens. Also, topics like depression or anxiety will appear. The beginnings of the chapters, meaning, the dreams, are heavily based on a Tumblr post I saw long ago!
> 
> At the end of every chapter, there will be a drawing made by me :)
> 
> There will be weekly updates. Enjoy!

_ Warlock’s apartment _

_“Once, I had this dream…_

_I was sitting in a, otherworldly, empty theater, well, cinema, as you British call it, with a tall, thin man. I cannot really recall what he looked like, except that he was well dressed in a black suit, impossibly pale, and he kind of blurred before my eyes when I tried to stare at his face, like an old polaroid photograph, so I mainly watched him out of the corner of my eyes, and looked ahead at the blank movie screen. He was holding my hand, and I can just remember it being surprisingly warm and soft. He asked me, although I don’t recall him even opening his lips at all, if I enjoyed my life. I don’t know why, but I said yes. He then said:_

_“And how does this one weight against the last? Can it tip the scales, or is it, at last, to be found lacking?”_

_And I answered, almost verbatim, as if my voice wasn’t my voice anymore: “I weight my lives against the joy to be discovered.” He replied with a laugh, lifted my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles, and said: “until next time, then” And disappeared.”_

* * *

“Holy fuck.”

“I know.”

“No, Warlock. That’s weird as fuck. And I’m studying psychology, I should know.” Emma’s notebook slid off her folded legs, and she picked it up with ease, as if she was used to doing so, just as people with glasses raise them up their nose when they feel them fall. I swallowed my impulse of bantering with her about her master, normal thing between us, just because I thought it was improper. Not only because of her serious gaze, but the story I had just told left me feeling restless, as if remembering a bad memory. “And do you have… This kind of dreams usually?” She, again, took the pen that was hanging from her ear, and uncapped it, willing to keep writing my unconsciousness memoirs.

“Not really. At least, not that I remember afterwards. That’s why I keep a dream journal.”

“Diary.”

“Journal.” I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

“Whatever. This man, the one in your dream, have you seen him in more occasions?” She genuinely looked curious.

“No. At least, I don’t think so.” I bit my tongue, wondering if I should let my thoughts be known, but my mind provided me no reason to stay silent. It was Emma, after all. “It’s as if… As if this man, this… Figure, let’s say, appears more than once in my dreams, just in different disguises. Not like it’s putting on different costumes, but different faces. It- They know I know they are… The same thing.”

“As if a spirit possessed different people, right? It’s different people but you know there’s something that remains.”

I lighted up at this, “exactly!”

“Which disguises have you seen them in?”

“I don’t really know. I don’t remember. Not always I see them, physically, I mean, but I know they are there.”

“As some kind of God, huh?” She tapped the pen against her pointy chin, humming in deep thought. I didn’t answer this. To me, it didn’t feel like a God. It felt like… A protector. Someone to watch over me, but that held no power over my world. It was as if someone that cared about me had found a key to my mind and kept slipping inside my dreams. To talk to me, or just to observe. I didn’t mind this, even though I probably should have, I was never an open person to begin with.

In the other room, the teakettle began to whistle, and I got up before Emma could get the notebook out of her legs. “I’ll get it.” I didn’t wait for her nod, and I walked out of the living room.

I had never imagined I would be sharing a small two-bedroom apartment with someone else than my cat, but here we were. Living in a cozy London flat with a grumpy cat and a grumpier woman. I walked in the kitchen, hearing the phantom voice of my mother: _“Warlock, don’t drag your feet!”_ and I felt like laughing at the memory. My mom was many things, but chaotic wasn’t one of those. Oh, if she saw the way that books and empty coffee mugs cluttered everywhere, she would be so mad. _“I didn’t raise you to be so messy.”_ Well, mom, I actually like my mess. It’s mine and mine alone.

I took the kettle out of the fire and turned the stove off. I took two teacups, the sugar, a jar of honey and the milk, and I placed them on the metal tray Aziraphale had given me when I moved in. I loved this tray, with its indentations and its shiny surface, and I didn’t even know why. Probably because of who had given to me. I put the kettle on it and raised it with ease, years ago I couldn’t even bring a cup of coffee somewhere without spilling it, and all thanks to that little coffee shop job I got at the end of spring. I felt oddly proud of what I had achieved ever since I left home and its comfortable but cold walls. I took the tray to the living room, where Emma was still hunched over her red notebook, the one she used to write scribbled notes she never reread again after putting them down, and I placed our tea on the battered table in front of her. She didn’t raise her head, or acknowledged my presence at all, so I sat down, on the floor, because we had an amazing carpet that should be used by only the mightiest. That is, me.

I let her work in silence, and I prepared the beverages, pouring the tea and the milk, two tablespoons of sugar for me and a bit of honey for her. Just when I was closing the jar, she looked up, dropping the notebook unceremoniously on the sofa, stretching her legs and arms just like a cat would, and dropped her body on the back of the seat, her arms over it, head tilting down, legs crossing one over each other. The casual and familiar sight made something in my gut feeling warm, rested and relaxed.

“You should leave my reveries for now and relax.” I told her, taking a sip. It was scalding, just how I loved it.

“But they are so interesting!” She exclaimed. “You know I don’t believe in that stuff, magic, past lives or premonition shit, but, even from an objective point of view, they are… Fascinating.”

“Yes, just say you want to make a thesis out of my trauma and go.” I smiled into the teacup, and she scoffed.

“Don’t say such things! I am very much respectful of all your mental problems, thank you.” She vaguely waved a hand at my general direction. “Besides, I wouldn’t consider dreaming about an ominous thin tall man to be caused by trauma.”

“What is it, then?”

“Probably just horniness.” She snorted ungracefully and raised herself to sit upright with a tired sigh, resting her elbows on her thighs. “Have you talked about this with Esther?” Esther was my therapist, and Emma was absolutely smitten with her. Because she was actually interested or just because Esther was one hell of a psychologist, that I don’t know.

I shook my head. I never talked to anyone about my dreams.

Emma was an exception. We had been friends ever since boarding school, where we had bonded over being the not-so-straight kids and a liking to occasional mischief. When we got out, we messaged each other, and when I turned nineteen, I asked her if she wanted to share a flat with me. It had been an impulsive decision that I had worried about when the urge had passed, as I had never been a people person, much preferring having my own space.

But living with Emma was easy.

She liked to cook, and I liked to bake. She liked to clean the dishes, and I liked to clean off the dust. She recommended me movies and I recommended her books. Besides, she hadn’t cared if sometimes I locked myself up in my room for days, and I didn’t care if she left her dirty laundry in the bathroom. We were the perfect flatmates, and for that, I was incredibly thankful.

There was something about living with someone that wasn’t your family that was so special. That you get used so much to another person that it becomes part of your daily life, and you can notice if they are or not are home (Although this was easier with her than it was with me. I was very silent and her…. Well, it was Emma.), that you can learn so much about someone in such a short span of time. Once, I found this book in a second-hand market, dedicated to _“a dear flatmate”,_ and wondered how it had ended up there. That book now sat, proudly, on my desk. I had never read it, and I wasn’t planning to.

It was that easy camaraderie that only grew between people who shared their daily life that pushed me to tell her about the dreams.

That, and the fact that she was studying psychology, so maybe she could put some order on my thoughts. But alas, no such luck.

“Not even your uncles? You know, your Nanny and the bookseller?” Her eyes searched mine, as she knew how close I was to them.

“No.” I inhaled and looked down on my tea. “They would worry. They already do, and I don’t think it’s that important.”

“Warlock,” she began, dragging my name slowly, like she wanted me to pay attention to her words, “not only you dream ominous stuff, but you also told me some of your dreams… They come true.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in, verbatim, that stuff, magic, past lives and premonition shit?” I smiled, and she finally picked her cup, now cool enough for her. Pussy.

“I don’t. But the fact that I don’t believe in it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” She was always saying things like that, so honest and wise that I wondered if she was any older than she actually was. Even when we were kids, she was like that, and that made me love her even more. “You should, you know. Tell them. No offense, but they are kinda weird. A good weird. Ominous and… Magical, even. Maybe they have the answers my limited view cannot give you.” I pondered her words.

“Fuck, Emma. You just sounded like Walt Whitman.”

“What can I say? I would be a great novelist.” She said with a smug smile.

“He was a poet, you uncultured swine.” I lifted my empty cup and placed it on the tray. I looked over my phone and I sighed. “Hey, I have class now. Do you mind…?” I said, glancing over the mess we had left.

“Go, go.” She signed me off with a wave, already bored of our chitchat. “I’ll clean this up. Besides, I have to re-read my notes.” She wouldn’t.

I got into my room, and blatantly ignored my unmade bed and the crumbles from the morning’s breakfast. Yes, I might be an adult, but not so much to actually eat in the kitchen, like a heathen. I grabbed my boots and my jacket, I put the laptop in my backpack, and I made sure I had my keys and my wallet. Just before going outside, I checked how much battery I had on my phone. Once I assessed I had enough for the afternoon, I went outside, and I caught a fast glimpse of Emma trying to pick Cat up, to no avail.

* * *

_ College Campus _

Classes were… Boring, to say the least. It wasn’t that they were uninteresting! Just, they were not interesting.

At least, not to me, being that I was majoring in Classic Literature, and right then I was daydreaming my way through an International Politics lecture. Not my fault! Well, actually, it kind of was. My father had taken my choice of studies as a personal offense, and I didn’t blame him, not really, after all, he had set his son to be a successful politician, or at least, a lawyer or something he could brag about when he met up with his colleagues and friends. Instead, he got me, the Literature Kid. It wasn’t as bad as Fine Arts or Philosophy, something that would scream _“I’m gay and a commie!”,_ so he accepted it, as long as I minored in something that had to do with what he was expecting of me. Ergo, Politics.

I could have said no, turn around and slam the metaphorical door in my father’s face, but then again… Money. Yes, it was egoistical, and yes, it probably showed my certain weakness to economics and a comfortable life, but I have never been stupid. Maybe a bit of a bastard, but not stupid. My father, apart from rich, was powerful, and you never say no to power. It was something that came down from being the son of a diplomat, or maybe from all of the lullabies about controlling the world and punishing my enemies and blah blah blah.

So, there I was. Faking that I was paying attention. It wasn’t that I hated the class; it could get really interesting, especially when the front seat girl with the loud commanding voice started fighting the occasional liberal dumbass, but that day wasn’t the day. Apparently not only for me, as I could see my classmates literally sleeping on their notebooks or playing Minecraft on their computers.

Even the front seat girl was quiet. Uh, odd.

So, when the professor finished the lecture, looking just as bored as the rest of the class, I didn’t lose time in packing my stuff up.

“Hey.”

A voice sounded next to me, and I raised my head, wondering if it was directed at me. It was.

Front seat girl was standing there, a determined expression on her face (Although it usually looked like that), and she was holding a paper in her hands.

“Hey.” I answered, lifting my brow, compelling her to keep going. I must say that I was really craving a latte.

“So. You are Warlock, right?”

“Indeed I am.” I said, mentally praying that she wouldn’t say anything about how weird of a name it was. I knew. And I loved it. Thanks mom, revenge had never given others an easier subject to bully about.

“I’m Pepper.” She handed her right hand out, and I hesitantly shook it. She didn’t seem to read my displeased face, or she just plainly ignored it. Probably the second option. “I was wondering if you have any partner for the Women in Politics essay.” Okay, of all things, I was not expecting that.

“No. As a fact, I didn’t even know we had to make an essay.” Okay, I should have toned the daydreaming down. “And don’t you prefer to do it with a woman?”

She scoffed. “Why would I want that?”

“Because two women teaming up to write about more women is usually more effective and well-researched than men doing it.”

She smiled at me for the first time in the whole conversation, and I, somehow, smiled as well.

“Well, you’re wrong.” There was no bite in her words. “Not about the women teaming up. About me wanting to make it with another woman.” She sat down next to me. There went the latte, and I almost cried at the loss of caffeine in my body. Oh, well.

“So, you want it to make it with me? Why?” I was surprised and confused. We hadn’t spoken to each other outside of class, only talking when we were in the middle of a debate, and even then, it was no proper conversation.

“I’ve been listening to you. You have a painful American perspective, but it can be forgiven. You have good ideas, and you are very good explaining yourself and giving actual arguments, even if they are garbage.” Still smiling. A joke, then. “Besides, you seem to know more women in politics than any of these nerds do, so it’s a good start.”

“You are one of these nerds too.” She barked a laugh. It was brief, concise, and loud, and I thought that it was so very like her, even if I didn’t even know her.

“Is that a yes?”

“I guess it is.” I definitely liked her.

“Well then, it’s all set! Give me your phone, so we can meet up or something.”

“Actually,” I said, my mind brightened with a not so bright idea, “are you free right now? I was craving a coffee and I don’t have any more classes.”

She looked incredulous.

“I’m a lesbian.”

“And I’m gay. Your point is…?”

She smiled again, not even bothered by her foolish assumption and the probably blank expression on my face. “Okay then. Let me message my friends and I’m all yours.” She took her phone out of her dark jean’s pocket, quickly read over some messages, hiding an amused smile at them and typed whatever she had to say. Then, she raised, and with her, my body went. My mind was still dreaming of that warm coffee.

Outside of campus, we fell in a comfortable conversation. Pepper asked me about my fading accent.

“Ah, well, I was actually born and raised here, in England. But when I was eleven my family moved to the States.” I kept the real reason of why: Usually, telling people that your father is a diplomat, even if it’s not that great of a job, makes them treat you differently. Privileged. I hated it, and for what I’d seen, Pepper didn’t seem like the type to do so, but I preferred to keep it to me. At least, in that moment. “I grew up in New York, and then I went to a boarding school.” I rolled my eyes. “It was the worst, but. They had this amazing library; you could actually get lost in it. I was interested in books before but being locked into a school full of pretentious little fucks and pretentious big fucks makes you want to be alone at all times. The library was a good place to be. And it increased my thirst for literature. That’s what I’m majoring in, Classic Literature.” I explained, growing more confident with my words.

The girl nodded, and with a smirk, she said. “Yes, you look like a book worm.”

I didn’t know if I should have felt offended or not, and ultimately chose not to be.

“And, if I may ask, why are you studying here, in England? Instead of America?” She asked, curiously.

“You may. It seemed… Like the natural choice. The States were great, but I never really fit in. I like London, with its narrow streets and old bakeries. It feels like home. Besides, my Godfathers live here too, so…”

She hummed, and thankfully, didn’t ask anything about my family, if I missed them or some shit like that. I wasn’t ready to open up about my daddy issues.

“And you? What do you study?”

She brightened and stood even prouder in her fast pace. “Gender Studies!”

“Yes, you do look like a strong feminist.” I joked, already feeling some kind of budding relationship between us, and I stopped to point at a small coffee shop squeezed between a printing house and a kiosk. “There. They make the best coffee of all campus.”

We entered, and, as always, it was almost desert, only another student writing in a laptop and a couple of old people. We sat in a quiet corner, waiting for the waiter to come. Pepper looked at the old printed menu with interest. “Hmm… I could do with a crepe right now.”

“They are very good.” I made her know, and reached out to the back of my head, liberating my hair from the grip of my elastic band, only to make a lazy ponytail again. I saw Pepper watching my movements intently.

“You look good. With the hair.” I raised my eyebrows.

“If you hadn’t previously told me, very pointedly, that you are a lesbian, I would have thought you were hitting on me, Pepper.”

“You wish.” She smirked. “I mean, I think men look ridiculous when they try to wear their hair long. You know: Man buns. I’m all up for wearing whatever you want and however you want, but.” She grimaced. “Man buns.” She shook her head. “But it looks good on you. Specially tied up. Let me tell you something, when I was little, I was a bit jealous of people with straight hair, they would pull their hair up and whoosh! It would look just out of Pinterest. I soon understood it was internalized racism. Kids were always mocking my afro, but I love it.”

“It surprises me.” I said, letting my head rest on my hand, and Pepper looked at me, wary of what I was going to say next, probably some kind of shitty commentary about it. “You strike me as someone who takes no shit. Even when you were a kid. _Especially_ when you were a kid.”

She laughed with glee. “You are right. Me and my group, the Them, used to chase down those bullies and just fuck them up.” There was something childish and warm in her gaze, remembering old times. I could relate to that stare, the soft hands of Nanny and the worried glances of Aziraphale, then Brother Francis, in my mind.

Finally, the waiter came to our table, and I asked for my usual, a latte and a glaze donut. Pepper asked for cocoa and a simple crepe.

“All this time I’ve been fussing about the coffee, you could have told me you preferred cocoa!”

“Oh, but you seemed so smitten with your caffeine, how could I take that from you!” We fell into an easy banter, maybe even too easily, but I, for once, didn’t care. It wasn’t every day I found someone who could keep up with my moody self.

Once our (very tasty) orders arrived, we jumped into work, getting our laptops and notebooks out, and starting our research on the essay. I thought that, with Pepper enthusiasm, it would be one of my best papers. It was.

We were there for an hour and a half. Finally, Pepper looked over her phone, seeing the time. “Holy fuck! Sorry, I have to go, I forgot I promised I would make dinner today.” She frowned, as if she was actually annoyed at how fast the time had passed, or maybe at having to cut our time today, but that was just what I hoped it was.

“Don’t worry, we have plenty of time. Here, have my number.” I gave it to her, as she was picking her things up. She took the cup and the plate and brought it down the counter, smiling at the waiter. “Well, I’ll send you a message soon! Don’t forget to look into the links we wrote down!” She waved at me from the door, and in a second, was out of view, just like a ghost or a vision.

I let a small smile creep into my face, though if you tell this to anyone, I will completely deny it.

* * *

_ Esther’s office, days after _

“So, how have you been doing?” Esther asked with a smile, putting her hands in her lap, as usual. She always did the same, asking innocuous questions in the middle of our sessions until I was comfortable enough to get into deep stuff.

“Good, actually. Busy with college, but good.”

“That’s great! Have you been taking your meds?”

“Yes, Esther, I have.” She was almost mother-like when she inquired me about medical stuff. I couldn’t blame her, after all of these years’ experiences.

“Good! Have you done what I asked you to last time you were here?” She cocked her head, letting her dark hair fall on one shoulder. She, of all the years I had known her, was always elegant looking, with expensive blouses and smart skirts, her hair always perfectly done. Once, I had asked her about that, and she just laughed, telling me it was part of her routine. She told me, in that voice you make when you want to tell a secret that is not a secret at all, that if she didn’t do her hair every morning, she would just be lazy all day. I could feel where she was going to, but I would not make braids at nine in the morning. That was just preposterous. I liked to think that it was because Esther was a certified adult, the one that makes healthy suppers and always has a clean house. It was just an excuse.

I nodded and passed her a note. There, in the paper, were written different accomplishments I had achieved that week. “It’s not much, but…” I said, embarrassed, but she just smiled and read the brief note avidly, just as fast as I expected her to be.

“This is great, Warlock!”

It was not that great. Well, it was for me, but not the average person.

There were few sentences:

-I managed to take care of my plants with none of them dying.

-I managed to wake up at an ungodly hour every day.

-I managed to drink at least three bottles of water through the day.

-I managed to finish a few assignments.

-I managed to make a new friend.

~~-I managed to call my parents.~~

-I managed to have a few lunches with my uncles.

Esther ignored the scratched sentence for the moment and looked at me with a fond look in her eyes. “Warlock, I already told you. Don’t use the word manage, use the word achieve.” I almost rolled my eyes. “I know, I know it sounds, how do you young-lings say… Like bullshit. But the way we treat what we do impacts us just as much as the things we actually do.” She said, placing the note down. “And, what do I spy with my little eye… Our lone wolf has made a friend! Who is it?”

I told her about Pepper, and our essay, and the numerous messages we had sent to each other. I felt embarrassed about being this excited, after all, it wasn’t as if I had met the love of my life, but Esther just smiled at me and said: “I’m very proud of you, Warlock. I know it has been difficult to change your life like this, and that you, still, are struggling with social relationships, but I know you are trying, and for that you should feel very proud of yourself.” Even If I didn’t want to, her words of assurance made me warm inside.

**Esther was one of my most strong pillars, along with Emma and Nanny and Zira. I’ll be blunt, and honest with you, because I think it’s important to know, and I want you to know:**

When I was eighteen, I tried to kill myself.

It wasn’t as spectacular and dramatic as it may sound. It was ugly. And painful. Surprisingly easy, because apparently if you have money in the USA you can get any pills you want with nobody stopping you. And I regret it very much.

It wasn’t as one would expect, neither. When you think of suicide there’s this general idea of a teenager cutting her arm open in a bathtub (Yes, this was a direct insult to Thirteen Reasons Why, sue me), and it was stupid. Sure, it was the to go idea, but there are certainly less painful ways. Alas, pills. Sure enough, they weren’t painless. I took around 60 pills, Tylenol and Xanax, after fucking googling them, and just laid on my bed to wait for them to make effect. They didn’t, or at least, in the way I had been expecting: I blacked out. And when I woke up, an hour later, my body made me puke all over the floor. It made me feel feverish, and dizzy, and my stomach was screaming at me, and I was puking all over my bedroom floor. This happened twice, and when I was sitting with my back to my wall, watching the empty bottle of pills in my hand, I came to the realization that I didn’t really want to die. I should have thought about that before, but that’s how the human mind is. I, in my fever and pain, just remembered a number, and I don’t really recall the conversation we had, I just remember being awakened, minutes later, by a pounding on my door and the familiar figures of Aziraphale and my Nanny, just when the pills started to actually make effect. It was like being incredibly high, I couldn’t feel my body, but not like when you are really cold and everything is numb, but like your soul and mind aren’t attached to your body anymore. I must have blacked out, because the next time I was conscious I was laying on a hospital bed, with a tube of twenty centimeters down my throat and a multitude of nurses all around me. It was just as good as it sounds.

Even now I have to be careful of certain medications, because of it.

 **Ever since, I have been with Esther.** And she had been amazing, knowing when to pull and when to let go, and what subjects we should talk about and what we should stay silent about. I, unsurprisingly, had a lot of shit to unpack, and it took me eighteen years to realize that therapy was a solution, not a punishment.

I am good, now. Still depressed, with a severe childhood trauma and a bit anxious, but good. I have good friends, and a family that loves me, and a therapist that helps me.

But, still, I struggle.

And I felt absolutely embarrassed, and guilty, because I thought I just wanted attention. Why would a rich white kid have depression? My life wasn’t that bad, and still, it had compelled me to try something horrible.

Of course, that isn’t my fault.

But it’s something that stays with you, as a second nature, just like the idea that you, maybe, are unlovable, an idea that still, to this day, attacks me when I’m feeling down.

It’s a lie. But it’s a lie that hurts.

Esther helped, and Aziraphale (Because now Brother Francis was called like that, and Nanny was Crowley, but he would always be Nanny) and Nanny were there for me, worried, and a bit suffocating, but they were there, and I am absolutely happy about that. My parents didn’t know, and I preferred to keep it like that. I felt bad about hiding something so important from my mother, who had not been, perhaps, the best mom in the world, but she had tried, and I appreciate and love her, but I didn’t think she would understand.

And now there I was, talking to Esther about all the problems in my life.

“I saw here that you scratched the talk with your parents.” She began and left me to explain myself.

“I was going to. But… “I sighed. “I don’t think I can do it. Not yet.”

She accepted my answer, even if she shouldn’t have, but she did.

“Very well. You have to go to your own pace, Warlock, and I respect that. Nevertheless, if you feel that you can do it, you can message me whenever you want, okay?” She declared and passed onto lighters subjects. How was I doing with school, what were my plans for the week, what I was planning to eat… It was a relaxed session, and soon enough our weekly hour had come and gone.

“Well, seems like it’s over!” She clapped her hands together and stood up from her black chair. The Mighty Chair, I called it in my mind. I had only seen her sit on it, and it felt sacrilegious to think of someone else in that chair. “Same hour next week, right?”

“Yes, please.” I smiled at her for the first time in the hour, took the required prescription and exited her office, closing the door behind me.

I felt exhausted. I was not used to open myself up like that, so even light conversations made me feel incredibly tired.

Just when I was getting out of the Hospital, my phone pinged with a new message. It was Pepper. It read: _“Hey, my friends and I were planning to make a picnic tomorrow. You on?”_

I thought about socializing with someone else than Pepper, about having to prepare myself the next day, about choosing a good outfit (I had heard so much about the Them, I was actually nervous about meeting them), and brushing my hair, and actually making an effort. But, you know, I thought, _Fuck It_.

**_“What do I have to bring?”_ **

_“Just you and your pretty face ;)”_

**_“So, red wine?”_ **

And now, it was time to go home.

* * *


	2. The Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then I saw Pepper with another boy, and I wanted to run away and never look back. Maybe change my classes, or my degree, or maybe move to Spain and open a tortilla’s place. It would be nice, facing the street, with comfortable chairs and a big sign with a tortilla on it. And I would change my name to Moisés, a nice biblical name to match my new life devoted to god.
> 
> This was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of the chapters, meaning, the dreams, are heavily based on a Tumblr post I saw long ago. Also, sorry if Warlock comes off as a college boy. He is, in fact, a college boy. I'm Spanish, and I have never been to London, so I had to base my entire knowledge of the city in Google Maps and my British friends (They were not very helpful lmao). Let's ignore the fact that King's College is really expensive, and that eating probably isn't allowed inside of Victoria Park.
> 
> As stated before, there's a drawing in the end of the chapter made by me :-)
> 
> All the kudos and comments are highly appreciated. Enjoy the chapter, and stay safe wherever you are!
> 
> If you want to chat about Good Omens and Warlock Dowling with me, my tumblr and my twitter both are @lucienff

_“Once, I had this dream…_

_It was a couple of years ago, when I was visiting Wales with my mother. That morning we had been walking around in a small village, just outside of Aberystwyth, and I was dreaming exactly the same, but this time, I was alone. Suddenly, I walked past an old stone house, the only one in that street, and I just… Started to weep. I had the overfeeling that I needed to go inside and get dinner ready, but in a different life, so long ago and so impossible to reach, that the feeling of loss was instant and so overwhelming, it made me wake up. I had been crying in my sleep, and even after the feeling had passed, something heavy set on my chest.”_

* * *

_Warlock’s apartment_

“Did you go there, afterwards?”

“Where?”

“Where that house had been, you moron.”

“No.” I shook my head, taking a hit of my cigarette. “I wanted to, but I had an early flight.” That was not the full truth. I could have gone there, but I was scared to find out what had made me felt so suddenly lonely and out of my body. All the options were terrifying: If the house was there, I didn’t want to feel it again, and if it wasn’t, I felt like I would cry again, no matter what.

“That’s a pity…” Emma elegantly tapped the tip of her fag on the mug we were dropping the ash in. I didn’t know how she could do it so effortlessly. “And have you ever felt like this outside of your dreams?”

“Like how, exactly? Some kind of Deja vu?” I turned to look at her, and her gaze found mine almost immediately.

“No, like, a place that has left you feeling like you have been there. Not a Deja vu, but this… Strong urge you had to go inside.” She didn’t have to explain what she meant, as I was almost fluent in her language.

“Yes. Sometimes. Not as strong as making me fucking cry, though.”

“Yeah, well, that would be scary as fuck. Just plainly out crying in public after seeing a house. What you gonna say? It was so beautiful I started crying?” She laughed at her own joke. It wasn’t that funny.

“You’ve never… Been to a place that makes you feel so deeply you go breathless? Not even something… Ominous, as you put it, but just, so beautiful it resonates within you?” I am sure my eyes went actually starry eyed at my sentence. How embarrassing.

“Yes. The Louvre. The top of Hearst Castle. The view between a woman’s legs.” She finished her list with a dirty smile.

“Is there any time of the day when you aren’t thinking of sex?”

“When I’m sleep. And even then…”

I threw the scrunched comforter of my bed at her, making her look like a cozy ghost.

“I’m smoking, you asshole!” But she was laughing, letting her head and hand out of the white blanket, now looking like overcooked gnocchi.

“Awww, you look even hug-able right now!” I laughed behind my own cigarette, letting my feet rest next to me, hanging from the ledge of my window.

“Anyways…” She was still trapped inside the comforter but didn’t really seem to mind. “So, you got a date?” Her smug smile said it all.

“Again, it’s not a date if it’s more than three people, Emma.” I said, amused. “It’s just a group of friends that have invited me to eat with them.”

“In a picnic! How cool does that sound? Very cottage-core. Do you think they will have those cute wooden baskets? You could be the red riding hood.” I shouldn’t leave her stroll so much around Twitter and Tumblr, just because if I didn’t stop her, she would soon have done twenty different moodboards and five playlists for me and the… How had Pepper call them? The Them (I knew perfectly how they called themselves. One, it sounded like a fucking gang name. Second, she had repeated it enough to make me have it tattooed into my mind.)

The Them was integrated by Pepper, who, in her own words, was the only rational person with more than two braincells inside her. Then there was Wensleydale, the smartass whose only goal in life was to be a functionary and work for the state or some shit like that. I mean, he wanted to do Finances. Who the fuck wants to willingly do Finances? Then, there was Brian, the strong man of the group, apparently, he was studying with a sports scholarship. I didn’t even know there was this kind of scholarships in England. And finally, the almighty, Adam. Pepper hadn’t talked a lot about him, even though he seemed to be the leader of their little group. When I had asked, she had just rolled her eyes in the middle of a sushi bite, and said, with all seriousness: He is just… Adam. As if that explained a lot. As you can see, I had really high expectations with this meeting.

“When do you have to go?” She asked me, wanting to break the silence that it had formed around us. She was always so very loud about everything, and I was always so quiet, it could lead to some faint arguments about the volume in our house, and, of course, I always lost them.

“In around…” I looked at the time on my phone. I had a collection of watches I didn’t really use (I’m always moving my hands, either writing, or doodling, or just plainly playing with my wrists, so they were really uncomfortable to wear), and an old clock in the corner, but I always forget. Half of the times I just asked Emma what hour it was. “An hour, I think.”

“What are you gonna wear? Something cute, I hope.”

“I always look cute, fuck you.”

She giggled like a kid. “That’s what you think.” She got up from the floor, where she had been laying, leaving the finished cancer stick inside the mug, still wrapped up in the comforter like a burrito, and strolled to my wardrobe, where my clothes were neatly hanged. I might be a chaotic man with everything else, but my clothing had to be always perfect. “What style are you scoring for?” She began looking around, taking shirts and pants out of hangers and throwing them on my bed. I didn’t have the energy to stop her. And besides, hanging them calmed me down, so if the picnic went horribly wrong, I could have something to do afterwards. She picked a black t-shirt. “A failed goth, like always?” With her left hand, she took a white linen loose shirt. “Or a Victorian Ghost seeking revenge, also, as always?”

I shook my head. I, in fact, had planned to wear that. She knew, and her smile grew. “You are so very predictable, you know that?” She threw the shirt at me, and luckily, I caught it mid-air. “With the black pants?”

“The brown ones.”

“Wow. You really want to impress them.”

“They are simple pants!”

“You only wear lighter colors when you want to impress somebody!” She took them off their hook, pressing them against her chest. “Any cute guys in that group?” She wiggled her brows suggestively.

“I wouldn’t know, I haven’t met them, that’s what this whole picnic is about, Emma.”

“Blah blah blah, can I do your hair?”

I wouldn’t have been able to say no.

* * *

_Victoria Embankment Gardens, London_

Okay, I was nervous.

But, honestly, who wouldn’t?

I was just about to be thrown into a group that knew each other since fucking babies, and I would be… Pepper’s friend. Or Pepper’s classmate she had pity on because he didn’t seem able to befriend other people in class (I had college friends, but they went to my Literature classes, not fucking politics). But to be honest, she didn’t neither, so. Okay, I had to stop overthinking. It would be fine. They were nice fellas, and if Pepper was truthful, then they wouldn’t mind his presence. Everything would be fine.

And then I saw Pepper with another boy, and I wanted to run away and never look back. Maybe change my classes, or my degree, or maybe move to Spain and open a tortilla’s place. It would be nice, facing the street, with comfortable chairs and a big sign with a tortilla on it. And I would change my name to Moisés, a nice biblical name to match my new life devoted to god.

Instead, I took a deep breath and slightly smiled (Not too much, after all, I had to live to everyone’s expectations of me), thankful that I still had my sunglasses on. They saw me and practically ran to me, and only when they were some feet (meters?) away from me I was able to really see them.

Pepper was wearing a loose t-shirt and some red joggers; her hair was up in bun and she had some Converse on. The other boy was shorter than her, with big glasses covering half of his face in a way that was not attractive at all but endearing, in a way. He had dark straight hair and was wearing a brown sweater and a pair of brown slacks, besides, his face seemed to be in distress. I didn’t really worry about that, as I had the feeling that he was just like that. And by his looks, I supposed he was Wensleydale.

“Hey, Warlock!” Pepper said, ebullient as always.

“Hey Pepper.” I stuck my hand out, always the diplomat (Ugh). “I suppose you must be Wensleydale.”

He seemed surprised by my greeting, and I couldn’t blame him, it was strange to see a college boy with such manners. “Ah, yes, that’s me!” He shook my hand nervously. I thought, amusedly, that maybe he did everything with that nervous energy, like a hamster. “But please call me Wensley! When people say my full name, I can just think of my mom.” He smiled again, and I nodded.

“Well, pleased to meet you. Pepper has talked a lot about you.” Yes, I was acting like a Good Pleasant Polite Boy. My mother would be proud.

“I can say the same about you! I must say, I wasn’t expecting you to look so…” He stopped and blushed furiously, looked at Pepper, who had an amused smile on her face, and back at me. “Um…”

I tilted my head to my side and repressed a smile. “Feminine?”

“N-No!” He stammered. “I was-was going to say, uh, you know, warm, well not warm! That’s a big adjective and we still not know each other well! I meant, um, Pepper gave us an image of you, different, like, m-more… intimidating, I guess?” He seemed to shrink under my attentive gaze. “Not as an insult, of course! Just…” He looked at Pepper for help, but she just laughed at him.

“What he meant,” She put an arm over his shrugged shoulders. “is that you seem more pleasant than usual. Did you see Stephan trip over the Classics Department stairs?” Stephan was an asshole in our Politics class, who thought the Tories were actually doing a really good job at directing the country. I laughed at her question, and that, instead of relaxing the boy, seemed to make him grow smaller.

“Chill, Wens. Warlock is cool, he won’t make fun of your glasses or something. If he does, I’ll break his nose, alright?” She said to him in a confident voice. I didn’t doubt her sentence, and I wasn’t offended neither. She could, in fact, break my nose.

“I would prefer not to. I quite like my nose right now.”

Wensley looked more relaxed with our bantering.

“Well!” Pepper left the boy’s shoulders to clap her hands. “Adam and Brian are waiting with the food. Shall we?” She didn’t wait for us to respond, already walking to the direction where, I supposed, were the other two. I fell in step with Wensley.

I knew he wanted to ask me something, but he was probably too scared, so I began the conversation. This seemed easy enough. “So, Wensley, what are you studying?” I already knew, but it gave him enough room to breathe and answer.

“Finances, actually! I know it sounds like a boring degree, but…” It really did. “I enjoy it.” He smiled. “It’s calming, using numbers. And it’s satisfying when you get the right answer.”

“Yes, I can relate to that. Every time I get an author, or a quote right is like a rush of adrenaline.” I smiled back.

“You study Classic Literature, right? Pepper told us.” I wondered if she had told them everything about me. “It sounds really interesting. Actually, there’s this man we know, he has a library-.“ He was stopped by Pepper, who shouted at who, I presumed, were Adam and Brian.

We got near, and I could finally see them properly. The one who looked like a Brian was standing next to a tree, a tote bag hanging from his hand. His head was shaven, and he was wearing a sports t-shirt and some joggers, just like Pepper. He was the first one to look at us, and his face was surprised, not because of us being there but Pepper suddenly screaming. His face was… Awfully jock-esque, with an undertone of a jokester. It didn’t make much sense said out loud, but it did in my mind. The other boy, in the other hand…

He looked up lazily from where he was lying on the ground, and fuck. He was hot. Is this the Adam factor Pepper kept talking about? If the fact was that he was, indeed, a fine specimen of a man, I was not complaining. Well, maybe I was, because now I was stuck with them for at least an hour and I wouldn’t be able to look at him without blushing. He had light brown curls that seemed to shine under the fall sun, bright blue eyes, clear skin (I was sure he didn’t even do any type of skincare, the motherfucker), and _that_ type of body. You know _what_ type. Not too fit, like Brian seemed to be, nor too slim like my skinny ass. I was all up for body positiveness, but a man is weak. Please let him be an asshole so I can hate him, I thought.

He got up from the patch of grass. I hadn’t even noticed what he was wearing. A basic t-shirt, a denim jacket and light washed jeans. I didn’t like to put labels, but he screamed bisexual. I even checked his pant sleeves. Not rolled up. Uh, this one’s tough.

“Guys! We’re here.”

“We can see that.” Adam spoke, and even his voice was hot. I fucking hated myself.

Pepper ignored him, putting the bag she had been carrying on the ground. “You didn’t even unfold the tablecloth!”

“Well, there are no tables over here…” Brian said with a teasing smile, and Pepper punched his shoulder, though it didn’t look like he even felt it. While they were getting the cloth and the food out, Adam looked at me, apparently analyzing me.

It wasn’t every day I felt uncomfortable under someone’s gaze, but his stare seemed too pointy, too sharp, not in an insulting way, but I felt as if he was reading my thoughts. That would have been rude.

He finalized his quick exam and smiled brightly, with his whole face, and I didn’t know how he did that.

“You must be Warlock! I’m Adam, and that’s Brian. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!”

“Same here.” How charming, Warlock. “Pepper hasn’t stopped talking about you.”

Adam glanced over his friends with a fond smile.

“What can I say? We are all very close.”

“I can see that.” It actually warmed my heart to see a group with so much love for each other. Just like what I had with Emma.

“Hope you don’t mind their bickering.” He stepped closer, avoiding the mock-fight Brian and Pepper were having, while Wensley tried to calm them down, unsuccessful.

“No, I don’t, you don’t have to worry.” I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “They actually remind me of my best friend.”

“Energetic?”

“Loud. Very loud.”

He laughed at that, and our conversation was cut by Pepper whining for us to help. I took the bottle of wine out of my bag, and stretched my arm, as an offering.

“Wine? We are in a public park!” Wensley exclaimed, looking right and left for any guards.

“And?” I asked.

Adam interrupted us. “It’s more fun like that. It wouldn’t be the first time we run from the police.” He smiled innocently, but Wensley looked more distraught.

“It’s different from Tadfield, Adam!” He was the only one nervous, Pepper had gone starry-eyed at the sight of the alcoholic beverage and Brian… Didn’t look like he really cared. “Besides, you don’t drink!”

“Not much. This is just wine.” He never stopped smiling, how did he do it?

“Can you stop fighting?” Pepper said, already laying down and grabbing a sandwich from the bag (No, it, sadly, wasn’t a wooden basket. Pity.) and munching on it. “I’m hungry.” She stated, already devouring the food.

We sat down and ate, all while in a pleasant conversation. I learned that they were all from a small English town called Tadfield (That sounded oddly familiar), that they were usually accompanied by Adam’s dog but he was staying with his parents while they found an apartment that allowed pets, that Brian actually didn’t have a college scholarship, but was studying to be a PE teacher, and that Wensley was dating his high school sweetheart, a girl called Anabelle who wanted to be a stay-at-home wife. A dull, but comfortable and happy life, I supposed. It was kind of cute, when you grow up with a family that is never together the thought of such a normal life was almost appeasing.

“And you, Adam? What do you study?” I asked, curious. He didn’t really talk of himself, and I didn’t neither, but I was an inquisitive fuck.

“Religious Studies. I know, weird.” He gave me a small smile.

I managed to not choke on my sandwich by God’s will. Lmao. Funny, should have written that down.

“Your name is literally Adam.” I stated.

The others looked between each other.

“Yes?”

“You know, Adam and Eve? The first ever humans created by God? Ever?”

Brian let his sandwich down.

“Your name is Adam, he’s right.”

“Holy fuck, how did we not realize?”

“After all this time!”

Their sentences mingled together, and Adam looked at them, confused. They exploded in laughter. I chuckled, but their hysteric laugh told me there was something, maybe a private joke, underneath it all.

When they calmed down, I looked at Adam, who pouted at their friends. Fuck, he was cute, and he was nice. I was done.

“Religious Studies sounds like an interesting subject. I study Classic Literature, so Religion is an important part of it. Are you planning to specialize in something? You don’t want to be a priest or anything, aren’t you?” Fleabag images flashed in my head. My last question made the group explode in laughter again, but Adam ignored them.

“I haven’t really thought of it. It felt like this degree… Was something I had to do; you know?” He glanced at his friends. “I’ll probably end up teaching. It’s something I always liked.”

“Of course, always the leader.” Pepper smiled, panting loudly after her laughing attack, drying her wet eyes with a white napkin. “You’ll never change, uh?”

Adam brightened up from his deep thoughts. “I sure hope so!”

“Well, everyone changes.” I said softly, and they looked at me. “Heraclitus.” That didn’t look to clarify anything. “A Greek philosopher, he used to say that we are constantly changing, everything, actually, is constantly changing, therefore, we are never the same.” I finished my sandwich.

Adam hummed. “That sounds about right.”

“Well, to me, it sounds like bullshit.” Brian said. “Wouldn’t we be different people if we were constantly changing?”

“That’s why philosophy exists. There is no right answer to that kind of questions.”

He shook his head. “Too complicated for me. I prefer to stick with simple questions. For example, anyone is going to eat the last sandwich?” Pepper looked suddenly stricken with need to eat more, and they began fighting about the sandwich. In the end, of course, she won.

The lunch went by surprisingly fast.

The Them were really nice, and I never really felt out of the place, even if I could feel the familiarity already around them.

When we packed up, we threw everything to the trash cans at the end of the park, including the empty wine bottle and the plastic bags Wensley had brought. I don’t know why it struck so much to me that they were all clean and organized. In America, my group of colleagues didn’t care about leaving everything behind them, be it paper, glass or plastic. I hated it.

Apparently, Pepper, Brian and Wensley lived over the Waterloo dorms, so they went together after saying goodbye. Just my luck.

“And where do you live?” Adam asked once the other three were out of our sight.

“In Soho.”

He frowned, and I was expecting a commentary about how expensive the district was, and how in the world could I, a simple college student, afford it. But he didn’t do anything of the kind. Instead, his frown went as quick as it had come, and a warm smile replaced it. “Well, I live in Marylebone, so we could walk together.”

“Do you usually take the subway?”

“Sometimes. I like walking, and usually I just use my bike.” He replied to my question, walking towards our destination. We were around 20 minutes away from my apartment, and I would usually take the subway, as it would cut half the time, but I found I didn’t mind walking along with Adam. He was charming. Not in the _“oh, he’s a good lad”_ kind of charming, but something deeper, like he was pulling me in. Maybe it was just because I wanted to fuck him (Or just feel how soft his hair actually was, please dear Lord!), but I had a feeling it wasn’t. Anyhow, I didn’t mind. “And you?”

“Sometimes. I really don’t like walking, and I have never had a bike.” I smirked.

“You- What?!” He stopped in his tracks, a horrified expression on his handsome face, as if I had just told him I just murdered his parents and fed them to his dog. “You have never- **never** had a bike?”

“I mean, I have had a bike. When I lived here, in England, when I was a kid. But when my family moved to New York, it was difficult to keep one.” Mainly because I only ever biked around the garden, as I was not allowed to go outside without supervision, and my father’s bodyguards didn’t appreciate any vehicle that wasn’t automatic, so it soon became boring. But I was not going to tell him that.

“Well, that’s going to change!” A determined grimace occupied his eyes, walking faster now. “You are going to go bike with me- us.”

“I don’t have one.”

“This is London. There are rental bicycles everywhere. Just look over there.” He was right, a rental bike stand was in the corner. “You have no excuse now.” He looked smug.

“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes, and that seemed to amuse him more.

“Great! So, we have plans already.”

“You sound excited.”

“I am.” He flashed me a coy smile. Oh. That was flirting. That was flirting, right? He was flirting. Like, _flirting-flirting_. Or was this common conversation in rural England? No, he, for sure had to be flirting. Right? As my mind analyzed the conversation, I blushed. Fuck me!

“-and I really want you to meet Dog, I think you’ll like each other, and I miss him terribly. I mean, I like you- We all like you so he must, as well.” He had kept talking while I was overthinking everything. It was weird that he didn’t tell me the name of his dog, but I let it be. He chatted for a while, of this and that, his life in Tadfield, his apparent rivalry with some guy called Greasy Johnson (that town had a lot of gangs, uh), his friendship with the Them, his studies… I let him speak, I liked how he expressed himself, the confidence in his words and movements. I hadn’t noticed before, being too nervous and distracted, but he was tall, taller than me, and I wasn’t a short person. Not only that, but he wore his height with certainty, comfortable in his own body, and I had to admit I was jealous of him. Even further, he was handsome, terribly so, but didn’t look to actually know that. He was so him I found myself at loss of words. 

He picked up in my silence and encouraged me with a soft smile. “I’m only talking about myself. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I’m sure you have a lot of thing to say. You _look_ like you have a lot of things to say.”

I wanted to tell him everything about me.

And that feeling was scary as fuck.

Luckily, we reached my street, and I found something to say. “For starters, I live here.” I pointed at a gray building. His face fell, probably thinking of saying goodbye. The idea of stopping the conversation suddenly made me incredibly sad, so I blurted out: “Want to come up?”

He looked up, surprised, and nodded quite dumbly, probably shocked at my offer. Yes, I know I don’t look like the most open person over here, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I begged for Emma to have picked the mess we had left before going out.

I opened my building’s door, and I found myself hoping not to find any of my neighbors in the stairs, even though it was a stupid hope. How would we look together? Like friends? Anything else? _And why would I care?_ I wanted to slap myself, daydreaming like a teenager… When we were on my floor, I turned to him. “It’s very messy, sorry about that.”

“You haven’t seen my room.”

I chuckled and opened the door. Thankfully, Emma had cleaned the hallway. “You can leave your shoes if you want.” I pointed at the old cabinet by the living room.

“Oh, of course!” While I took my boots off, he took his sneakers. We placed them in the cabinet and walked into the kitchen.

“Want some tea?”

“Are you sure you can make it?” He teased.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” I took the teakettle out of its place next to the plates. “I’ll have you know that I prepare a delightful tea. My godfather taught me. He’s a very English man.”

“From London?” He was looking around the kitchen, and I fought the feeling of embarrassment. This was my home, and I liked it. If he didn’t, he could fuck off.

“No, not exactly…” I laughed but didn’t explain further. I didn’t even know myself.

I prepared the tea in a peaceful silence, feeling Adam’s eyes on me. I would usually be fussing over my clothes or my hair, but I felt oddly comfortable. After all, he was in my kitchen. Esther was right, home is the place where we belong, and all negative emotions are out. Well, not exactly true at all, but you get me. Just when I was taking the teacups out, Adam spoke: “Hey, what if…” He grew silent.

I side-glanced him, pouring the tea. “What if?”

“Nothing, I think it’s too personal.”

“Too personal?” I smiled at him.

“Well…” He tilted his head, pondering if he should say what was in his mind or not. “You see, I have this friend, Anathema, she’s one of the wisest people I know. And she says that when you are making new friends, it’s good to start saying something you have never told anybody.” I placed the cup slowly in front of him. For some reason, I had a feeling of how he liked it. He didn’t seem too worried about me magically knowing it.

“I usually would tell you to fuck off.” I raised a brow as he laughed.” But I am making a lot of exceptions with your little gang.”

“Like what?”

“Unimportant.” My straight answer amused him. “I can do that. What your friend says. But you begin first.”

“Hmm, okay.” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and took a sip of his tea. He didn’t spit it out, so it must have been good enough. Or maybe he was too polite to do it. “I was arrested once.” I wanted to tease him, but he looked serious. “Nor my parents nor the Them know it.”

I sat on the countertop facing him. “Can I ask why?”

He grimaced. “I got into a fight. A very bad fight. I broke the poor guy’s nose. And arm.” That shouldn’t have turned me on as much as it did, but I couldn’t control my body. “We were both arrested but were only 24 hours on watch. Then they let us go, but still…”

“How old were you?”

“Eighteen. That’s why they didn’t call my parents.”

“And that guy…?”

“Was scared shitless of me after that, didn’t really see him afterwards.”

“Holy fuck Adam.”

“I know.” He displayed true regret at that, and maybe was expecting me to be scared or something.

“Honestly, Adam. I grew up in New York. A fight is the less you can experience.” Also, a half lie. As said before, I didn’t really go out of my house. But I had eyes.

“Yes, well, it’s different in Good Old Tadfield.”

We stayed in silence for a bit. I should say something, right? A confession for a confession. Okay, scratch the big things out. What did I have left? Something important enough that it didn’t seem like an excuse but not big enough to make him run away from my house.

“I have dreams!” I blurted out, and he raised his eyebrows. “Not like, hopes or shit like that. Literal dreams. Ominous dreams.”

“How so?” He actually looked interested.

“I’ve had them since I was small. They are very lucid dreams, and I can remember them when I wake up. I see… Stuff. Talk to different people. Travel to different parts of the world, places I have never seen, people I have never spoken to.” I took a breath, trying to come with a good explanation. “I don’t have normal dreams. I usually know I’m dreaming, and none of my friends or family appear in them. They are quite usual, not fantastic like most dreams, but real. Common. Just wrong enough that you know it’s not reality. Sometimes it’s rooms that have no doors, people with no faces, lights that look on when they haven’t actually been turned on… Shit like that. “I shook my head; he was going to either laugh or call me crazy.

But when I looked at him, he actually seemed serious and thoughtful. “And when you dream… What do you see?”

“I…” I tried to recall my visions.” Places. Sometimes I have been there and sometimes I haven’t. Sometimes I know I haven’t been there, but it feels like I have. I talk to people that don’t feel like dreams, but like they are visiting me when I’m unconscious. I see… Past lives. Things that haven’t happened yet. Things that just happened and I had no idea how I know about it. For example, one time I dreamt that my mom fell down the stairs, and hours later I received the call that she was in the hospital because of that same reason.” I shook my head. “It’s not scary, just strange.”

“And have you talked to anyone about this?” He sounded as if he was pondering something.

“No. Just my roommate, but.” I shrugged. “I don’t think anyone would believe me.”

“I do. And you know my friend, Anathema? She does too.” I didn’t ask why he was so sure, as he answered me before I could open my mouth. “She’s a witch.”

A witch? I would have laughed at that years ago, but now it seemed totally plausible and possible.

“Uh.”

“I think she could help you with those! Her family has had visions for generations now, and she would be pleased to meet you, I know that.” He sounded excited, and without even thinking about it, I was too.

“Well, it would certainly answer a lot of questions.”

It certainly would.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warlock when he saw Adam for the first time: I'm g a y


	3. The bookshop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Adam. Adam Young.”
> 
> There was silence for a moment.
> 
> And then, Nanny let out a loud groan that sounded even painful to me.
> 
> “She thinks this is so funny!” He looked at the ceiling in anger. “Do you?! Is this bloody funny to you?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so two points: One, the only reason I'm uploading this in Friday, is because i completely forgot what day was it. I wish I was joking. and the second, I'm not English, so everything you see, from vocabulary, to manners and geography is completely based on British friends and Google Maps. Sue me.
> 
> Aziraphale and Crowley make an appearance! If the ending seems to be abrupt, is because it is. I had no idea how to finish BUT in the next chapters, Warlock will have more answers! :-) Sorry for any mistakes, I have no beta tester so it's all hand-made with flaws and grammar errors and love. Enjoy! (Drawing as always, by me)

CHAPTER 3: The bookstore

_“Once, I had a dream,_

_I am flying. It is my old New York neighborhood, and I recognize some of the houses here and there. I know I’m dreaming, so I guide myself through the empty streets. At some point, I lose control of my body, like the video sequence of a videogame, and I begin flying over a phantom dirty track, full of trees and seemingly abandoned houses that seem more English than American, and a voice up in the air compels me to discover all of their secrets. I stop behind a cabin in the woods. My feet touch water, I’m in a lake, and I walk, feeling the coolness climb over my naked legs, and, still not controlling my body, I kneel and lie down, putting my head underwater._

_When I open my eyes,_ _I'm in my bed. I cannot move and there's someone sitting on my back, voices all around me, but I’m not scared. The thing on my back kneels over, its mouth caressing the tip of my ear, and with a whisper, it speaks: “Don’t move. Am I a dream? Or Am I you?”_

_Then, I wake up on my sofa.”_

* * *

_Warlock’s room_

I finish the entry on my journal, scribbling the date and hour at the top. I just got up from that dream. It was strange, stranger than usual, because it was not the first time I had a weird dream, and it was not the first time I had dream paralysis, but this time the two of them mixed. I always laughed at people when they spoke of the paralysis as something terrifying. In my personal experience, it was annoying, yes, but not particularly scary, I always know when I’m having an episode, so the worst thing is the wait. Sometimes it’s seconds, sometimes it’s minutes. Okay, yes, I almost pissed myself the first time it happened: I had been twelve, not even in high school yet, I couldn’t move, and I felt as if someone was in my room with me. I had wanted to scream for my mother, or even for Nanny, but nothing came out of my mouth. When it ended, though, I stayed in my bed, looking at the ceiling, catching my breath and crying out of pure horror. The next time it happened was years later, and it became more of a nuisance than anything else.

I started searching information when I got to sixteen, a time when I had especially weird dreams, probably because of all the hormones and shit like that, and I was obsessed with that kind of subjects: Dreams and unconsciousness. Apparently, the paralysis changed from person to person. I didn’t usually have visual hallucinations, but I heard stuff, voices and sounds, and sometimes I felt pressure on my body, as if someone was massaging me, or just sitting on me.

Besides, I usually had these episodes when I was really stressed, for example, in exam periods, and they came when I was just falling asleep, so they were especially irritating when I only got four hours of sleep per night.

They didn’t bother me that much in college, and I hadn’t had many of them, so that’s why I wrote it down.

I closed the journal and put it on my desk. I had fallen asleep trying to study my new course of Latin, but I had been so tired I couldn’t even read ten pages before I was snoring (I don’t snore). Next to the journal, there was a book I had grabbed from the library: _Aux Origines de l'histoire des religions_ , by Philippe Borgeaud. I had found I preferred to read books in its original language, if I understood it. Yes, I highly appreciated the hard job of a translator, but it was a small obsession of mine. One of the perks of growing up as a diplomat’s son, is that I had the opportunity to learn quite a few languages. My mother loved French, and she taught me ever since I was born. Italian and German came after, and I could handle a conversation in Spanish (My mother used that to get me say “Gracias” when we ate in a Mexican restaurant. It was the most embarrassing thing). My father only wanted me to know English and Chinese, but I never really got the grasp of the Asian language.

Back to the book, I guess you can discern why I got it. Okay, okay! It was not only so that I could have a deep conversation with Adam, but because I was genuinely interested in the subject. I didn’t know what I thought. I didn’t want to believe in a God, but at the same time, I had seen some weird shit in my life. Nanny had some kind of… Demonic energy around him, so something of the kind had to exist. Again, maybe he was a faerie and I was focusing on the wrong kind of mythology. I stopped my sudden want for reading about the Scottish and Welsh myths and focused on the Christian ones.

I had (kind of) read the Bible when I was small, as my parents were one of _these Catholics_. You know which ones. The ones that claim to love God and deeply believe in the religion but then absolutely ignore every one of their precepts.

And honest to God, no pun intended, it was kind of fun. Jesus of Nazareth seemed like a cool guy who did all awesome things, and I don’t mean turn water to wine, but saving everyone and in general… Being a nice dude. That’s more than you can say about a lot of Catholics.

Before I could ponder more about westernized religions, my phone pinged.

**Message from Adam666 [11:13 AM]**

**Adam666:** hey lock! you remember the woman I told you about, anathema? i saw her earlier and she gave me some books you could use :)

 **YerAWizard:** yeah? which kind?

I threw myself on my bed with a smile. I seemed to do this a lot around Adam, or the Them. Smile, I mean. Not throwing myself on things. Though I could use throwing myself from a cliff or something.

**Message from Adam666 [11:14 AM]**

**Adam666:** like, w i t c h y books.

 **YerAWizard:** lmao

 **YerAWizard:** if you give me the harry potter saga i swear…

 **Adam666:** those are real witchy books!

 **YerAWizard:** don’t let jk rowling hear you

 **YerAWizard:** she might, idk, make you come out as black in a tweet or something

 **Adam666:** pep would hate it

 **Adam666:** i love it

 **Adam666:** so

 **Adam666:** when can I give them to you? :-)

I chewed on my lower lip. It had been some weeks since the picnic thing, and I had not only been included in quite more plans by the group, but I had been added to a group chat. And, of course, I began talking to Adam more and more. Emma had picked on my crush almost the same day of the picnic, because she had been in the apartment when I invited Adam over, and when he had gone home, she exited her room like it was on fire, almost jumping on me with the most terrifying smile in her face.

Besides, I had a feeling Pepper knew something. She hadn’t said it out loud, or blatantly messed with me, but she had always this certain undertone when we were alone, and we talked of Adam.

I didn’t really care.

Well, I cared. A lot. But what was I gonna do? _“Yes, Pepper, I want to fuck your childhood friend, are you okay with that or do I need the permit from all the guys in the group? Would you maybe prefer me to open a legal request to bed Adam, or ask his parents for his hand in marriage?”_ I would rather die.

I stared at the cracked painting of my ceiling in deep thought, while my mobile vibrated in my hand. When I finally looked at the open chat, I grinned dumbly.

**Message from Adam666 [11:23AM]**

**Adam666:** lock???

 **Adam666:** don’t ignore me :(

 **Adam666:** i know ur seeing this u have ur doubletick blue

 **Adam666:** for some reason unknown to my infinite knowledge

 **Adam666:** prob because ur a jerk that doesn’t care about polite chat manners

 **Adam666:** so well-mannered in public…

 **Adam666:** and a meanie online

 **Adam666:** lockkkk

 **Adam666:** i will send you so many stickers your phone will actually combust

 **Adam666:** [sticker]

 **Adam666:** [sticker]

 **Adam666:** [sticker]

 **YerAWizard:** OKAY OKAY STOP

 **YerAWizard:** god youre a beast

 **YerAWizard:** the most annoying person I have ever known

 **Adam666:** thank you

 **YerAWizard:** it wasn’t a compliment.

 **Adam666:** oh no

 **Adam666:** the final period nooo :(((

 **Adam666:** I, Adam Young, apologize to you, Warlock Dowling, the only way I know:

 **Adam666:** [sticker]

 **Adam666:** [sticker]

 **Adam666:** [sticker]

 **YerAWizard:** I’m going to block you

 **Adam666:** By Great Merlin’s Beard! The period has gone!

_I actually laughed. Out loud. At that._

**YerAWizard:** its gonna come back if you dont behave

 **Adam666:** uh

 **Adam666:** u like good boys? ;-)

 **YerAWizard:** you would be the worst good boy of the entire Kingdom of England

 **Adam666:** So, I hope!

 **YerAWizard:** Anyway, I can’t meet up today. I have a date

 **Adam666** : oh

Yes, I knew how that sounded. I wanted to torture him a little, maybe assess his actual interest. But then I imagined his puppy eyes and I immediately followed:

**YerAWizard:** With my godparents

 **YerAWizard:** We are gonna have lunch together :) we always do on wednesdays

He didn’t answer for a while, and I became a bit nervous. I got up and I sat with the back to the headboard of my bed.

**Message from Adam666 [11:37 AM]**

**Adam666:** that’s cool!!!

 **Adam666:** do you know where you going to eat?

I took a breath at his answer. Three exclamation points were cool. I could work with that.

**YerAWizard:** idk

 **YerAWizard** : they really like the ritz, always going there for their dates and stuff, so maybe…

 **Adam666:** The Ritz?

 **YerAWizard:** ye, you know it?

 **Adam666:** yeah, i went once with some old friends. The food was cool but it was too uptight for me, I think

 **Adam666:** not that uptight is not good! Just not my type

 **YerAWizard:** you would prefer to eat your entire bodyweight in vegan hamburger in some cafe with poor hygiene and sanitation 

**Adam666:** how did you know??

I snorted at that. He was kind of predictable sometimes, in the most endearing way. Fuck, I had known him for a couple of weeks and my crush had only grown and grown.

My mobile phone screen went black for a moment, and an alarm jumped out. I sighed, letting the phone flop on the comforter, and I stared at the ceiling, pondering if I could make an excuse to not go out of my room at all. Of course, I was just lying to myself, I knew how important those lunches were, but a man is lazy. After looking at literally nothing for about ten minutes, my body decided to respond to my pleads and got up. I was already dressed in a shirt and some pants, so I just put a sweater over it and the jacket. I sat down to put my boots on and grab the phone and my wallet. I knew I wasn’t gonna pay, I never paid when I went out with my godparents, but at least it made me feel safer and like an independent young adult.

My phone pinged again with a message.

**Message from Nanny <3 [11:45 AM]**

**Nanny <3:** u ready or do we have to hail u out of ur bed?

 **YerAWizard:** im ready im ready

 **YerAWizard:** Same place?

 **Nanny <3:** u got it

 **Nanny <3:** b safe

I rolled my eyes at his last message; he always said the same. (Pretended he didn’t care and say something so very thoughtful right after).

Before I could step out of the room, I looked at the desk. I took the journal and I put it in my coat.

Emma wasn’t home for the week, she told me she had quick trip to do, I didn’t ask and she didn’t tell, probably a romantic escapade with the girlfriend of the moment, so I just said bye to the fat black cat hanging from the window still in the living room. I adopted her just after my nineteen birthday, and she had traveled with me to everywhere I went ever since. I scratched the top of her head and stooped to kiss her, to which she only closed her eyes and kept trying to sleep. Lazy motherfucker. I loved her.

I got out, remembering to take the keys (Long story), and stepped out in the November air. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t raining. Even though I had been living in England for almost three years, I had never grown fond of the country’s weather. I enjoyed some rainy days, the kind of just relaxing with a book or a movie and making hot chocolate, but when these rainy days happen every day it can get really depressing. It wasn’t like NY was always sunny (in fact, it was quite cold), but it wasn’t as gloomy. Looking at the people around me, I could see the clear difference.

New York was filled with different types of people. While my neighborhood, not strangely, had been, in general, quite white and rich, the city was brimmed with unique cultures and folks, which I loved. Of course, London also had this uniqueness to it, a city full of universal folklore, but it wasn’t the same. I still loved London, but I found myself missing New York, but only as an idea and a fond memory makes you miss something.

The Ritz was only fifteen minutes away from my home, and I was used to the route, so I put my earbuds on and began the quick walk. I started thinking about my dream earlier that morning, and I wondered if Adam and Emma were right and if I should ask Azi and Crowley about the dreams.

On one hand, they could have some answers to my questions, as they always seemed to do, even if most of the times my constant curiousness had gotten them into uncomfortable conversations. On the other hand, they probably would not have good news, or maybe they just thought it was a normal thing, or maybe I feared finding that whatever had been happening to me since I was a teenager was… Nothing special.

It felt good to have something special about myself, even if others didn’t know it.

Soon I found myself inside Green Park, where we usually meet up before going into the restaurant. It was easy to spot them.

Not only were they always together, glued like some kind of magnetism forbade them from separating, but their figures were so contrasting and particular that it was impossible to not see them (Unless they didn’t want to be seen).

Nanny was wearing his leather jacket, the one he swore was gifted by Bowie (I wasn’t surprised, and I fully believed him), a burgundy shirt and some black slacks. Azira was wearing his usual, a broken white suit that seemed like it had been stolen from a 19th century museum. I instantly smiled.

They were bantering, as always. I was glad to see that some things never change.

I got near them. Aziraphale was the first one to see me, and he stopped whatever discussion he had been having in order to hug me so hard I saw black for a moment.

“Now, now, angel, let him down.” Nanny grinned at me; his eyes obscured by a pair of sunglasses.

“Oh, sorry, sorry. You know how excited I get when I see you, Warlock.” He let me down, and after catching my breath, I smiled at them.

“It has only been a week, Azira.” I said, looking at his clothes. “I would ask if the suit is new, but I know better. How have you been?”

“We have been good. Better than good, excellent! The bookshop has been doing very well, and Crowley here has been an absolute sweetheart, even helping me out with sorting out all of the new books!” I didn’t know what he meant by _doing well_ , he didn’t even open most of the days. “But enough of little old ourselves, how have you been, dear?” They looked at me with soft eyes, or at least I supposed that was what was going on under Nanny’s sunglasses.

Ever since… That, they are always concerned for me. It’s nice, but at the same time, it can be tiring.

“I’ve been doing very well. As always.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know, stop worrying blah blah blah.” Nanny finally got up from his scrambled position at the bank and pointed at the restaurant. “Let’s eat, yeah?”

I wanted to point out that he didn’t really eat much, but I stayed silent, letting Azira fill the space with his rambling about some new book he had gotten his hand on. “It’s a first edition, and one I had never seen, can you believe? I was surprised out of my marbles when I saw it, and very well cared, you would love it.” He didn’t stop smiling all the way, and when I glanced to my right, I saw the same smile on Nanny’s face. Sometimes it could be sickening, the way they were so in love with each other. All in the good sense of the word, of course.

When we were finally sitting in the table, with a plate of very abstract salmon in front of us, and after a long conversation about books, I managed to get my question out.

“I have to ask you two something.” I cleared my throat, playing with the end of my sweater.

They looked at each other, as if communicating non-verbally, and then at me.

“Yes, dear?”

“It’s… Weird to explain.” I began, and Nanny raised his eyebrows at me, deepening the wrinkles of his forehead.

“If it’s a sex related question you might as well ask google, hellspawn.” Aziraphale choked on air, turning his head at him so fast it seemed to almost snap his neck, a blushing and startled expression on his face.

“It’s nothing like that.” I shook my head, amused yet serious, and they seemed to pick it on, as his attention focused on me. “It’s related to… Dreams.”

“Dreams?”

“Yes. I’ve been having weird dreams for quite some time.”

“Quite some… How much time?” Nanny crossed his hands on the table, the salmon ignored.

“Uhm… Years?”

I could feel Nanny’s eyes glaring at me, even with the dark screens hiding them.

“Since I was eleven.”

That seemed to shock them suddenly, as if what I said was the worst news I could have ever given them. Aziraphale’s body tensed, the chair he was sitting on making a soft sound t his movement, and his face paled, a look of surprise taking him. Nanny concealed his shock better, his features going slack for a moment and immediately recovering, his back straight, for once, making him look a bit taller than before.

“Eleven, huh? Since your birthday, or…?”

I was still a bit confused by their reaction, but I tried to remember.

“I don’t know. It was a long time ago, but maybe? It would make sense, I guess.”

“Why is that, love?” Aziraphale’s voice went quiet and soft, bending so his body was closer to mine.

“I don’t know.” I repeated myself. “It just… Feels like that.”

They nodded at the same time, not even looking at each other.

“And…” Nanny cleared his throat. “What are these dreams about?”

I bit my lip, and instead of explaining, I took the journal out of my coat. I placed it in the middle of the table with carefulness.

“It’s all there, my dream journal. Of course, I only write things since some years ago, but…” They looked at each other again, a worried look in their eyes, and Aziraphale took the book with as much reverence as he treated every book in his shop. Nanny angled himself towards his chair, so that they could read together the entries. I busied myself with the salmon, but the conversation had taken all the appetite from me. Soon enough what had been almost a piece of art looked like a Dadaist painting. I felt sorry for the chef, but I promised myself to at least ingest the dessert. I filled my wine glass while they scanned the diary, for some reason nervous of their reactions.

The dreams were not usually gruesome or disturbing in the most basic meaning of the word, but it felt like giving out all my dirty secrets, even if they weren’t.

Aziraphale closed the journal softly, and began whispering with Nanny, glancing at me every after a few seconds, Nanny running a hand through his hair, Aziraphale’s fingers toying with the book.

A few minutes after, they looked at me, seemingly having reached the answer to their little conversation.

“Do you mind if I keep the journal for a while? You don’t have to, but there are some really interesting things in here.”

Even though my whole body seemed to resent the idea, I nodded. Probably he would understand more than I did, and I could write whatever I had to scribble on any paper.

“We might have some answers to your questions…” Aziraphale said. “But I think it would be better if we did it in the shop. Shall we?”

“Okay.” I answered, still tense but a bit relieved of the initial affirmation.

We finished the meal and the dessert quickly, speaking few words between us, each one deep in thought. What they thought about that I don’t know.

After supposedly paying, we went out of the restaurant. The sky had filled his grey clouds, not ready to rain but enough to darken the street. I almost cursed at the fog.

Both of them were quick, so I had to pick up my pace to not get left behind. Nanny’s Bentley was parked next to the garden, so we got inside. Apparently, some years ago he had another Bentley that was “sadly destroyed in a terrible fire”, and Nanny didn’t stop until he found another one, calling it Bentley the Second. I was quite fond of the car, even though I was strictly forbidden to ever drive it. Nanny was only strict about two things: The Bentley and his plants.

Soon enough, sooner than one would expect in the middle of London, we were next to the closed bookshop. That was another thing that struck out to me when I was with them: we always managed to find perfect parking. I would have loved to have them in New York, but hey.

After fumbling with the keys, we found ourselves inside the shop, the smell of old books and tea embracing us, the dim light of the lamps giving a warm look to the room. I loved this place more than anywhere else in London. It was filled with knowledge and love, all my favorite things mixed and baked in a small store in the middle of Soho.

I turned to see Aziraphale closing the door again, letting the sign in its usual place: _Sorry, we’re closed!_ He looked at me and pointed at the old sofas at the back, and I went there with heavy feet, sorting some books so I could actually sit down. Maybe I got the messiness from him, with the way literature seemed to brim in this place.

I stared at Aziraphale, who seemed to be looking through quite the number different shelves and piles, humming to himself in thought, making little sounds of victory or confusion when he found whatever he was looking for. Nanny was nowhere to be seen.

Ten minutes after, I managed to gather the strength to ask: “What are you doing?”

He didn’t even flinch or look at me, just continuing his search. “Something that might help you… Where did I even… Oh, yes, last time I put it over there. Did I? Oh, how is this possible? Maybe… Aha!” He stopped his murmur with a triumphed cry. “Here it is!” He finally turned around with a wide smile, holding a mountain of books. Most of them looked old, older than even those antique books in the college library (And there were quite a few), but well-loved. He left the tomes on the small coffee table that was already covered in more texts than a normal person could read, and just then a red flash was seen at the corner of the shop.

Nanny was holding a simple cardboard box, sealed with tape, and over it there was something scribbled: CROWLEY, DON’T TOUCH. He left it on the ground with more delicacy than I had ever seen in him.

“You found everything, angel?” He asked, leaning against one of the shelves.

“Yes, I think this is everything.” He kept a scowl from taking over his face when he saw the position of the other man, but ultimately chose to not say anything. Instead, he turned to me, fidgeting with his hands like he usually did. “I think these books will help you more than we can.”

I’m sure I had a doubtful expression on, because the pointed stares of my godfathers were hard on me. I picked the book at the top of the pile, a leather journal that looked like it had seen better times. On the cover, in perfect gold handwritten, there was the title: _“The significance of the dreams for magic beings, an essay by Louis Ferdinand Alfred Maury.”_

“You’re giving me an Oneirology study?”

Their voices overlapped.

“A what?”

“No, my dear.”

They looked at each other and then at me again. Aziraphale spoke up.

“It might seem like a… Fantasy novel mixed with a scientific essay, but it’s not. In the strictest meaning of the genre, of course.” He smiled nervously. ”It’s one of the first modern editions talking about this, but not the most correct, in my fair opinion.”

He took two other books. One was even older-looking than the last, while the other seemed to be contemporary. He gave them to me. The first didn’t have a title. It was covered in black leather, a simple yet beautiful stamp burnt into the skin of the book. The second one was a faded green, and it read: _“Memory of the dream: the manual for young and new seers, soothsayers and prophets.”_ Under the tile, the name of the author, Anathema Device. Oh.

“Anathema…?”

How many Anathemas were there out there? I would have thought that maybe it was a simple coincidence, but at this point in my life I didn’t believe in fortuity.

“Maybe this is a weird question but… Do you know the author of this book?” I raised it from my lap, and they looked at each other, surprise in their faces, but not as shocked as before.

“As a matter of fact, we do. Why?” Nanny came closer, standing next to Aziraphale.

“I have a friend who told me about her. Said she could help me with my dreams.”

“A friend?”

“Yes. A new one, but nevertheless a friend.”

I grimaced in confusion. This, instead of giving me answers, was complicating everything.

“If I may ask, love…” Aziraphale was ready for another shocking new, it seemed. “What is this friends’ name?”

I looked at him, and then at Nanny, and then at him again.

Fuck.

I managed not to blush, even though I had no reason to do it.

“Adam. Adam Young.”

There was silence for a moment.

And then, Nanny let out a loud groan that sounded even painful to me.

“She thinks this is so funny!” He looked at the ceiling in anger. “Do you?! Is this bloody funny to you?!”

Aziraphale looked resigned, and patted the red head on the shoulder, while the other man cussed at whoever was “She”.

I wanted to ask. Did they know Adam? And why would they? This was getting more and more confusing, so I just stayed silent in my seat, reviewing the other books. It was all the same, magic and dreams, clairvoyants, the fey… They seemed to be half-serious, and for some reason I felt relieved at maybe having some answers in my beloved books.

When Nanny finally stopped, a permanent frown in his face, he pointed at the box. “Take this, it’ll help you. I’m going to take a nap, or scream at my plants, whatever floats my boat.” His tall and slender figure disappeared up the stairs.

“Oh, well.” Aziraphale sighed, his tired eyes fixed in the stairs. “She seems to have made a decision.” He whispered to himself, forgetting I was there.

“Uhm… So?” I asked, and he nodded slowly.

“I know this might seem confusing now but… We ourselves do not understand it neither.” He was being obtuse, and we both knew it. He looked nervous, suddenly. “It’s not like we want to keep things from you, my dear! It’s just… If you gave us a bit of time, then…”

I interrupted him. “Azira, you don’t have to explain anything.” I bit my lip, my lap now full of books. “It seemed like you have to make your mind over something.” That something seemingly had to do with my crush, but I was so overloaded with information that I didn’t care.

“You have always been a really understanding kid. Even with things that you shouldn’t.” He closed his eyes, humming slightly, and I felt his hand caress my hair. “Maybe later, we will know more about the situation. For now, you can read all of these, and open the box. If you have any questions, just call Crowley. You know I’m not good with telephones.” I nodded. “Do you need help getting all these things home? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you sure? I can pick the bus or something.”

“Don’t be silly!” He waved a hand. “Just go home. It’ll be there.”

“Okay Azi. Have a good afternoon, yes? And don’t let him scream at the plants too much, he’ll end up losing his voice.” I said. This lunch had been the weirdest one in a while.

Of course, when I got home, the books and the box were perfectly perched against my room’s door.

I was not surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, Warlock could be told that they are actually living in the Matrix and that all was a simulation and he would be "aight that sounds about right"


	4. The Antichrist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They turned silent when they saw us both, sitting down at the table, with a few books of witchcraft between us and an untouched glass of water.   
> Brian was the one who broke the stillness, as always: “Lock?”
> 
> Anathema seemed to jump out of her stupor, looking at them and then at me, and actual realization downed her face, her eyes wide behind her glasses.
> 
> I was fine.
> 
> I got up, taking the glass with me, and spoke to the still figure of the witch. “If you don’t mind; I need a moment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bam! You sure weren't expecting an update in this, huh? 
> 
> Well, I'm sorry. Between my last exams, personal problems, and my focus on my art accounts (and commissions) I completely forgot about this fic! I still love Warlock and the Them with all my being, but I have to admit I have left them for a while... But now I'm back! (Hopefully, at least to end with this fanfic. Fhew...) Sadly, no drawing today, because I didn't think it fit for this chapter. But worry not, I have more prepared for next ones! Today, Warlock finds part of the truth.
> 
> BIG TRIGGER WARNING FOR PANIC ATTACK (Based on my own experience, of course) Again, enjoy the chapter, and sorry for any possible mistakes! No beta and no native English, blah blah blah...

Once, I had a dream Chapter 4

_“Once, I had a dream…_

_I am sitting in one of those bus stops in the middle of nowhere. It’s night, dark already, only one streetlight illuminating the road. Strangely, I am not scared, nor wary. I stare at the road, and I feel someone sitting next to me. I don’t look at them. They ask, in a calm voice: “ Are you happy?”. I say nothing. They speak again, “Is it worth it?” To this, I answer: “Yes.” A bus is coming down the solitary road. I don’t look at them, but somehow, I know they are smiling. “Good luck, then.” The bus, which seems to bear only his driver, stops. The person next to me raises up to their feet, lightly patting my shoulder with a firm hand, and goes up the bus. The doors close and I am left, once again, alone.”_

* * *

_Aziraphale’s bookshop_

The paper next to my new book shined under the warm light of the bookshop’s lamp. It had been weird at first to read about magic and premonitions in such a serious tone, but I had grown used to it, not strangely, considering my upbringing.

Even though my degree of Classic Literature had me continuously using Latin as a main language for both translations and original sources, I had found the bits in this language to be the most complicated and, at the same time, interesting. Because, of course, magic book equals dozens of chapters in dead languages, like the mentioned Latin, Old English, and even some parts in Old Castilian. Most of the books had scribbled notes all over the margins, in all kind of calligraphies and methods. There were even some annotations that seemed to be written in blood. Which was pretty fucking cool if you ask me. No offense to my teenager years, but little old obsessed with American Horror Story emo me would have wept at the sight.

It was dark outside already, but after all, we lived in the Soho, so each now and then I would see groups of people walking outside, some of them peering into the closed shop, most of them college students, like me, who were curious about this antique shop in the neighbor known for pubs and restaurants. After all, it was Friday.

The only reason I was in the shop and not drinking my body weight in cheap vodka and gin was because Aziraphale and Crowley had called me days prior, telling me to come see them this night. It had been a week since they had given me the books, and I had been able to study half of them, post-it notes with my own scribbles all over, I had even bought a notebook to write whatever seemed interesting to me. Which was almost everything.

I was always very curious about the magic world, and now that I was practically being thrown into it, I was hyped up.

The bookshop was silent, it had been for a few hours. Even though they were the ones to call me, Azira had practically ran out of the local when I got there, telling me in a hushed voice that he “was late”. To what? I have no clue.

Nanny was nowhere to be seen, probably with Azira, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he were upstairs, taking a nap or whatever he did instead of sleeping.

After three hours of studying under the warm light of the lamps, my eyes began to tire. Not only did I have to study for finals, but also about my… What? Visions? That’s how it was called?

For what I had read, I didn’t really predict the future with certainty, like some people had done in the past, and even though some of my dreams sometimes had a veil of elevated-ness, I didn’t like, see God. I think.

So, I was not a prophet.

I had just learnt the differences between all the visionaries.

The prophets, apparently, have visions linked to monotheistic religions, which include a large number of people, or even the entire world, never individualized visions.

A clairvoyant, or “clear-sighted”, is a person that is born with the capability to see things. Honestly, I didn’t have much idea of what it meant, generally. After finishing some of the books, I had researched online for blogs, but most of them were either people selling tarot readings or people affirming they predicted 9/11. For the scarce information that I had gained, being clairvoyant could mean a lot of things. Having visions, extrasensory perception, predicting the near future, having sudden emotions around people, objects, places… It sounded like things I had lived with. Without a third eye chakra, or whatever that was. Sounded what my mom would preach about after a holiday in Malaysia. No, I didn’t want to take yoga.

I closed the book with a sigh. This was getting nowhere.

Talking about where’s, I looked around me. When was I going to get at least received or something?

Just when I was thinking about it, some people entered the shop, a tall dark-haired woman with circular glasses and a nervous-looking man with square glasses, but, before I could tell them the shop was closed, they were followed by Azira and Nanny.

“If you guys have a visit, I should make myself scarce.” I commented while they brushed their coats off.

The woman looked at me pointedly, while her companion helped her out of her long trenchcoat. “Is he…?” She asked, still staring at me. I felt tense. Her face was blank, but a look of curiousness flashed her eyes.

“Yes, indeed, he is.” Azira smiled warmly, and turned to me, still completely dressed in his cloak. “And no, Warlock, darling, please stay. I’m sorry about the wait, the bloody roads were awful!” He walked over me to press a kiss to my head, a hand resting behind me, on the back of the chair I had been sitting on. “These,” He said, his wrist turning to point at the newcomers. “are old friends. Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer.”

“Anathema…?” I whispered; the green cover of her book drew my attention out of the corner of my eye. “The witch.”

A tilt of the head that briefly reminded me of Adam was her answer, still studying me. I fought the impulse of getting up, feeling like I should stay where I was. That seemed to be a good action, given a slow smile make its way on her pretty face. “Yes, the witch.” The man, now I knew named Newton, was standing by her side, awkwardly bouncing on his feet.

A fleeting silence occupied the space, while Anathema looked at me and I looked at her.

“Miss Device, it’s a pleasure.” I finally got up, walking over her and offering my hand. She took it without hesitation, not even parting her eyes from my face.

“Ditto.” She smiled again, her tense stance disappearing. I didn’t feel offended. She seemed like the kind of person to be wary of strangers, no matter who introduced them. She raised her eyebrows. “That is correct.”

I shallowed a gasp of surprise. Did she…?

“No, I didn’t read your mind.” She laughed quietly. “But I could feel what you were thinking about.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s quite interesting.”

Before I could ask what she meant, Nanny, who had been silently leaning against the door, broke our conversation.

“I think you have questions, Warlock, ones we might not be able to answer, but she will.” He looked at his wrist, pretending to look at a watch he didn’t have. “Angel, nerd boy, why don’t we leave them alone for a while and pick up our dinner? Did you have something?” He asked me, and I shook my head. I had been so engrossed in my studying that I had ignored my hunger. “Great, let’s go.” He turned and opened the door, not even bothering to wait. I felt Aziraphale sigh behind me, and he let go of his hold, patting my shoulder and sending a smile to Anathema before going out. Newton seemed to hesitate, but a simple look from the woman at his side calmed him, nodding without uttering a word, and going outside, struggling to put on his coat again, rushing behind the other two.

The door closed with a jingle of the bell and a click, and we were the only people in the shop.

Even though we were going to have dinner soon, I asked her, “can I offer you something? Tea, maybe coffee?”

“A glass of water, if you don’t mind.” She answered, scanning the place, and picking a few books from an unused chair.

I went to the backdoor kitchenette, only a stove and a small refrigerator in it, they had installed it at my petition, because I hated to go upstairs every time I wanted to grab something to snack on. Besides, Azira had the habit of brewing coffee and tea for the students that sometimes used his shop as a library, so it was good for everyone. I took a glass from the small wooden table, and I poured some cool water. When I got back, she was elegantly sitting at the side of the table I had been using, reading some of the notes I had made.

I placed the glass at her side, and she looked up, her long fingers caressing the top of the pages. “Sorry for prying.” She wasn’t sorry at all. She smiled wider. “I see you have been making progress.”

“I wouldn’t call it progress. It’s more of an investigative work.”

“Of course, you do seem to be of the academic type.” She ignored the glass.

“You wrote the book. Memory of the dream, right?” It was an obvious question, but she nodded anyway, her glance brushing over her book, putting her hands on her lap.

“The manual for young and new seers, soothsayers and prophets. Yes, I did.” She voiced in a warm tone. “Have you been able to read it? For what Aziraphale and Crowley told me, they gave you lots of information.”

“You could say that…” I muttered, and she laughed under her breath. “And yes, I did. It was the quickest read of all.” I stopped myself. “I don’t mean it in a bad way. Just, the language is much modern, I didn’t have to translate entire chapters to understand it.” She hummed in agreement.

“I hate riddles and complicated reads.”

“I can enjoy them, but I feel the subject is complicated enough.”

“That’s right.” Her back was totally straight, chin up, she looked almost royal in the soft light.

“So…” I cleared my throat, searching for the exact words. I didn’t really know how to phrase my question, but she seemed to understand, waiting patiently for me. “You’re a witch.”

“Yes, I am.”

“What does… What does that imply?”

“What do you mean?” She tilted her head again.

“It might sound stupid but…” I bit my lip. “Do you have… Powers?”

“Well…” She looked at the ceiling. “I’m an occultist. That means, I have studied the arts beyond the range of ordinary knowledge or understanding for a mere person. Yes, I do have powers, but not something tangible, like telekinesis, or whatever the cliché is now. I can see auras, I can notice things no other people can, and I can feel thoughts of other… Magically tilted people. Like you.”

I mumbled, “me?” and she nodded. “I can’t see… Auras, though. I didn’t even know we had auras, to be honest.”

She laughed and waved a hand. “Of course. Most people, even people who can do magic, don’t believe in them.”

“Are they… Colorful? That’s how you distinguish them?”

She seemed amused by my curiosity, even pleased with it. “Yes, something like it. Some occultist can smell them instead of seeing them, even hear them, or just feel them. It’s difficult to explain, but I can see them.” She bowed her head with a smile. “Would you like to know what yours looks like?”

“I am… curious.”

Anathema hummed, fixing me with a practiced stare, even though I was sure she had already seen whatever she should be able to.

The lines in her face softened, and she said: “It’s… Gold.”

“Gold?”

“Yes.”

I blinked a few times, confused by her tone. It didn’t seem like a bad thing, but she was silent, studying the air around me. “It can mean a lot of things. Wealth, caring, overall, angelic protection.” She glanced over the closed glass door.

“Oh… So, you mean-“

A ping interrupted me.

Anathema blushed slightly and fumbled to take her phone from her jacket. “Sorry, I was planning to meet some friends while in London, and-“

“Don’t worry.” I answered, almost relieved that she was something else than totally composed. It made me relax a little.

She looked over her screen with a smile, and looked at me for just a second, before typing something. The click of her nails on the crystal was the only sound in the room, and I felt my throat parched up. I suddenly wanted a hot coffee, the exhaustion of the day reaching to me.

“Do you mind if I tell them to come here? They already know the shop, and…” She trailed off with a raised eyebrow.

“No, of course I don’t.” I kinda did, but it wasn’t my place to say no, it was not my shop, and for her words, her friends probably already knew Aziraphale. While she typed, I looked at my own phone. The last conversation I had was with Emma, a photo of one of her illustration works she used along her essays. I ignored new messages from classmates and The Them groupchat, which had about 150 new ones, and focused on my chat with Adam. The last conversation we had had ended with his input.

**Chat with Adam666**

**Adam666 [16:43 PM]:** You sure do like Lorde

**Adam666 [16:43 PM]:** don’t want to be the one to break it to you but I think shes either a reptilian or an immortal woman

Because of classes and essays, I didn’t have the time to see any of the group, except Pepper, because, obviously, we went to the same class, so I didn’t have to actually see them face to face. That was good, because my messages to Adam were strained since the conversation with Aziraphale and Nanny. I didn’t want to tell him anything, it wasn’t uncomfortable to me, but still I thought that maybe it would scare him off, knowing I knew something. Adam had been very open about his knowledge of magic stuff and, especially, conspirative theories, but he really did stiff up when the conversation focused on him, or why he knew so much. I didn’t want to push him, it was not my place to make him tell me things he wasn’t prepared to say, but suspecting something was different from actually knowing he, in some ways, was connected to my problem, and my godparents.

I had the feeling that he already knew, but I didn’t want to risk it.

Was ignoring his messages a good optional choice? No, but what else could I do? Tell him _“hey I know you’re magical or whatever, but I don’t know exactly what”_. Out of the question.

“I think you’ll like them.”

“Uh?” I was taken out of my thoughts by Anathema, whose mobile was now laying down on the table, so I did the same.

“My friends. I met them when they were just eleven, and they also are… Connected to magic, in some way.”

“Eleven?” For some reason that was the most shocking thing out of it.

“I know it’s weird, befriending some teenagers when you are a grown woman, but they were special. In our situation, I don’t think that’s the weirdest thing.” She laughed, shaking her head. “You see, I met them trying to stop the end of the world.”

The end of the world? I wasn’t as shocked as I should have been.

“My family…” She began, hesitating for a second. “My family had been following the prophecies of an ancestor of mine, a witch, Agnes Nutter. All her prophecies always were correct. They ended with the prognosis of the birth of the Antichrist, and therefore, the end of the world. I was raised to stop this, studying every single one of her words, and analyzing all their meanings.” She seemed deep in thought, or remembrance, even.

“Did you find it?”

“Uh?”

“The Antichrist.” I felt strange saying it out loud, like somehow I was insulting someone by uttering the word.

“Oh, yes. It was kind of amusing now that I think of it. I had been expecting a huge beast with infinite powers of evil, with the objective of ending the human race and everything we knew and loved.” She stopped with a weirdly fond smile. “And I found a teenager boy with an interest in treacherousness and dogs.”

Oh. _Oh._

A flash of Adam’s smug face filled my head for a moment. It couldn’t be, could it? It made sense, but at the same time… Adam? The literal Antichrist? All the pieces piled up. The Them’s jokes, the strange energy around him, how he seemed to possess some kind of dominance over everyone…

_Did I have a fucking crush on the Antichrist?_

I wanted to laugh, one of these hysterical laughs that makes other people look at you like you’re fucking mad. I almost felt like I was going mad. It was all so surrealist.

I opened my mouth and closed it again. Anathema was still speaking about the end of the world, and prophecies, and angels and demons, and whatever the story was about. In other moments, perhaps, I would have had interest in listening to it, but in that moment the realization had been like a literal slap. Not one of those vanilla mean girls slap but an actual Tarantino fucking punch to the stomach. It was alright. Really, I had lived through worse, and I already knew Aziraphale and Crowley had been involved in some eerie shit, and I knew Adam had something to do with it, but now that I had, practically, all the image, my brain suddenly overloaded.

“Anathema…” I felt like my voice wasn’t mine anymore. A fucking out of body experience.

She finally stopped her rambling, and looked at me, truly looked at me, and realization crossed her face.

“You look pale.” Was her only comment.

“This…. This is… A lot.” I felt out of breath. Please don’t have a panic attack please don’t I’m begging you.

“I spoke too much, right? Oh God, I’m so sorry. Not everyone is ready to know about the almost-Apocalypse. Do you need me to grab you something?” She seemed even more panicked than me. For a bit, I was completely calm. I probably looked fucking creepy, pale as fuck, my body rigid and eyes wide, but seemingly relaxed to others. I knew, I had seen myself before in these situations and usually I looked like a ghost.

“I’m fine…” I took a breath. It was alright, I didn’t even know why I had been panicking before. It wasn’t that bad, hell, I wasn’t scared or something like it. It was something just a bit more offbeat than usual. I was fine.

Suddenly, loud voices filled the place, and the sound of the door opening, and closing broke the tense silent that had formed. We both looked at the newcomers, my brain catching up to say that we were closed. I found myself looking at the familiar face of Pepper Galadriel, followed by the tall body of Adam Young _, the actual Antichrist, Prince of Hell, Son of Satan_.

They turned silent when they saw us both, sitting down at the table, with a few books of witchcraft between us and an untouched glass of water.

Brian was the one who broke the stillness, as always: “Lock?”

Anathema seemed to jump out of her stupor, looking at them and then at me, and actual realization downed her face, her eyes wide behind her glasses.

I was fine.

I got up, taking the glass with me, and spoke to the still figure of the witch. “If you don’t mind; I need a moment.”

I walked, probably looking like a spirit, leaving the surprised people behind, to the backroom, closing the door softly behind me, and then I walked to the table, putting the glass in the sink, and finally sat down in the only chair of the small room.

Oh god, I was not fine.

I don’t really recall how I ended up bent over my lap, my head held by my trembling hands, trying to control my breath and definitely not crying, because that’s not what I needed. I needed my cat, and Esther’s reassuring words, and Emma’s familiar warmth, and Nanny’s hand over my back, and probably a shit ton of alcohol, but I tried to calm down as much as I could. I felt out of my body, like I couldn’t control it, and I don’t know how much time passed when I finally acknowledged my situation, and that it had to stop.

There was a static noise filling my ears, but underneath I could hear the rushed conversation outside, probably about what the fuck was going on, and didn’t I want to know!

My cheeks were wet, I was no longer crying but I felt too tired and rigid to clean the mess over my face, preferring to stay in that position for a while. Okay, I was having a panic attack. It was fine. I listened to my internal Esther’s voice and took deep breaths, closing my eyes.

After the feeling of burning in my lungs passed, I practiced the next step. Focusing on my ears, I tried to distinguish three sounds. The quiet conversation outside the room, the drip of the broken sink, the creaking of the old wood.

Okay, it was going to pass, it would be alright. I hadn’t noticed, but my nails were stabbing my hand painfully, and I tried to relax my fingers, one by one. When one hand was open, pliant against my thigh, I heard the door open and closing quietly.

Whoever entered kneeled in front of me, but didn’t touch, for what I was really thankful. I would have preferred to deal with the panic alone, but I knew some companionship helped.

“Hey.” The soft voice of Adam reached my ears. I took a deep, shaking breath. This was Adam, sweet Adam who liked pistachio ice cream and stupid memes. “Hey… Open your eyes.”

I listened to him, unable to go against his orders, and I didn’t know if it was because I did have a weakness for him or because of… Whatever he was. His face was soft, concerned, and his hands hovered over mine, asking for permission to touch me. I nodded slightly, and his warm palms embraced my still tense fingers, massaging the back so that they would relax. It worked, and I felt calmer than before.

“Focus on my hands.” I did, and I felt myself slowly coming to my full senses, watching the hypnotizing movements of his digits. “Can you speak?”

After clearing my throat, I spoke: “Yes.” My mouth felt dry, and my voice wobbly, but I could talk.

“Good. Can you tell me five things you see?”

I raised my head and started watching my surroundings.

“The table. The glass.”

“Keep going.”

“The fridge.” My voice was steadier now. “The picture at the wall.” I was now looking at his face, still soft but smiling. “You.” I ended up in a breath.

“Good. Very good.” His hands were still massaging mine, and it grounded me more than I could ever imagine. “Do you feel better?”

“Yes. Thank you. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He shook his head, and he dropped my hands carefully. I found myself missing the touch.

“How did you… I mean, not many people…” I didn’t finish my thoughts, something that happened after one of my attacks, but he understood me.

“Wensley has anxiety, we all learnt to deal with his attacks in high school.” He smiled again and got up, grabbing the glass, and filling it with water. He looked like he had always been there, like this was a familiar room to him. Maybe it was, or maybe he always looked as confident everywhere. Maybe both. He reached to give me the glass, and I took it with a nod, taking little sips while he leaned on the counter.

“The others…?”

“Are outside, waiting for Aziraphale and Crowley to be back.” So he did know them. “Anathema is sitting in the shop. She wanted to talk to you. To us, actually.”

I hummed in response, the half full glass steady in my hand.

He exhaled a sigh and looked at the door. If I didn’t know better, I would have said he looked… Nervous.

“You… You know, don’t you? Anathema told you?” He didn’t fuss or move like other people would, but I could notice a strange tone in his voice. He really was nervous.

“About the Apocalypse and you being the Antichrist or the fact that she sees auras?” I asked now that the thought of it wasn’t as chilling as before. Still, it seemed to freeze him for a whole minute, the bluntly way I said it hitting him. “If you are worried about… I don’t know, me telling anybody or me being scared, you shouldn’t be. You will forever be worst good boy to me.”

That seemed, for some reason, to relax him, and he shot me a thankful look.

“It’s not… Something about me. I don’t have… Powers, like I did before. It’s small things, I’m sure you have noticed the strange good weather in London, or the lucky finding of money in the street, or the good timing we always have. It’s bits that are unnormal, but not outrageously supernatural.” He explained. “It’s not what I fully wanted but… It is what it is.”

“I see.” I answered. I did not, in fact, see.

“I don’t know…” He fumbled for his words, and I would have laughed at his momentary awkwardness if this wasn’t such an awkward situation. He took a breath. “I didn’t want you to learn it like that. You see, everyone around me, everyone close to me, my friends, Anathema, Crowley and Aziraphale… They know. About me. About… Who I am and who I was supposed to be.” He bit his lip.” I never really had to explain it. To someone close to me. My parents don’t know. I wasn’t planning on telling them that, well…”

“You are the Antichrist.” He nodded. “Jesus Christ.”

He seemed to find amusing the way I worded it, because he let a loud laugh scape, and it seemed to relax him fully. At the same time, I noticed, I did too.

“Yes. It’s still weird to say it. The Son of Satan.” He made Jazz Hands. “It’s more problematic than one would think.”

“There are so many things wrong with what you just said…” I shook my head, and I felt a small smile creep on my face. The tension of my body had caused my teeth to grit together, and a faint ache was pushing my jaw. I scratched under my chin, and I noticed the damp skin. I flushed. “Can you…?”

“Oh!” I didn’t have to finish, for he was already passing me a nose-rag. I cleaned my face, hoping it didn’t look as disgusting as I felt.

A moment passed between us.

“There’s never a good way to say you are the Antichrist, isn’t it?” I said.

“No. I was planning on telling you, but not this way.” He sighed and passed a hand through his curls. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m just… Really exhausted.” I wasn’t really lying. Yes, the information had been blunt and heavy, but I blamed mostly my poor sleeping schedule and the fact that I had only eaten about half a sandwich since breakfast. I had been feeling the anxiousness as background static the whole week, the exams and the essays and apparently magical beings catching up to me.

“You do look exhausted.”

“Jeez, way to compliment a guy, Adam.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you.” He stated. “But you look tired. You sound tired too.” He frowned, and I felt how he brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. I tried, impossibly, not to blush. “You want me to take you home? I know this conversation is very important, but you shouldn’t go there if-.“

I stopped him. “No, I want to talk. It’s been a lot, and I will probably fall into my bed like a dead body when the time comes, but I want to talk. Now that I have processed it.”

“You call that process?” He asked with a slight smirk.

“Oh, so now we are making fun of the panic attack guy? What’s next, breaking my legs and locking me in the basement?”

“First of all, that’s creepy as fuck and you should stop reading horror books. Second, I’m not making fun of you. I never would.”

“Sappy.”

“Drama king.”

“You know, calling horror stories creepy is kinda funny coming from the Antichrist.”

He hid a snicker behind his hand. “Oh, so now we are making fun of the Antichrist? What’s next, burning a Bible and dancing on it?”

“Can you touch a Bible? Does it burn your hand?” I leaned forwards, with a mock interest tone in my voice.

“Warlock I have entered churches with you.”

I blinked.

“No, the Bible does not burn me.”

“Pity. I would have sprayed you with Holy Water.” I got up, my legs still feeling wobbly, but much more stable now.

“Bold of you to assume Pepper hasn’t tried yet.”

“Oh, in that you’re wrong. I was expecting her to give me tips.” I pinched his side with a finger, and he jumped, probably for dramatic effect, as I was sure that he didn’t have any tickles. Fucker.

“That’s a painful thought you have there, Lock. Dunno if I could ever recover from such a hurtful attack.” He put a hand over his forehead just like a Victorian maiden would.

“Who’s the Drama King now, huh?” I smiled, more relaxed after our casual conversation.

“Touché.” His smirk slowly disappeared, and he tilted his head, making me look at his eyes. “Hey…”

“Mh?”

“I know this is a weird request to make, given the situation, but…” He closed his eyes and his eyes went completely serious, and it sobered me up, not used to the sight. He was handsome like that. “please, don’t let it change anything.”

I let him continue.

“I like you, Warlock.”

I felt my face slowly heat up. I knew what he meant, but it still made my heart beat irregularly in my chest.

“Ah…”

He opened his eyes, staring right at mine, and pronounced the next words with a big heaviness, almost solemn.

“I really, really like you.”

I swallowed my breath, slowly. I felt like I had just come out from a dark, claustrophobic tunnel to enter in a dizzy one, and for that I wanted to both hide my face and punch Adam in his face. His very, very pretty, and very near mine, face.

“I… I like you too, Adam. Magical worlds apart.”

He searched my face, maybe searching for a sign of hesitation or a lie, maybe just studying me (He seemed to do that a lot.), and when he found nothing (or maybe, something), he broke out of his grim stance, a big smile reaching his mouth and eyes. “You do? That’s good.” He straightened his back, and I suddenly felt our height difference, and I thought to myself that it almost seemed like he had to make himself smaller, to not let others find the discrepancy between his body and his natural stance. “I’m happy you do.” I would have answered with a light joke, to break the meaningful air around us, but I was stopped by Adam’s lips on my forehead. “Now, let’s get back to the others.” He went out of the room almost immediately, not waiting for me to move.

And for once, I was thankful of it, because my face was so bright that I probably looked similar to the lamps of the bookshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are making progress, aren't they? :-) Thank you for reading and for your lovely comments!


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